I am actually a bit complicated,
It will take some effort at your end to understand me,
If you have malice in your mind and blood on your hands, you will never be able to command me,
They said I fought for the Fuhrer,
I maintain I was naïve and wrong to that end,
But it is the love for Germany, the duty for my Fatherland that truly inspired me,
I was once full of hope, ready to go all out in the defiance for Germany,
Until I realized I was actually serving a mad-man, one who could harm me,
But by then, maybe it was too late,
Or maybe not late enough to try to reach out in what eventually became the abomination at Berlin,
I pleaded to the Bohemian Corporal to re-analyze the war strategy, just like I requested Rundstedt to try to follow me,
Normandy on D-Day was our downing everyone feels,
But think of it- hadn’t it all started- when in the 30s we allowed an evil outsider to dictate us?
Didn’t we begin to lose when young innocence was hindered from blossoming?
When wives, sons, husbands, and daughters were sent to the gas chambers?
Think of it, I must have done something right
To compel someone like Churchill to admit in his full might,
“That what else matters but defeating Rommel?”
Be it in the sandy desert-scapes of North Africa
Or in the French Hills?
I actually never assaulted an innocent,
I am proud I lacked the talent to separate a devout Aryan blood, a Protestant from a Jew,
But I was also this person who braved extreme health scare to continue the charge in North Africa,
I led armored expeditions at France feeling the morning dew,
If only I had known that for all I did,
Whether earning an Iron Cross or the Pour Le Merit demonstrating feats that left everyone stunned,
Would ultimately yield harsh character assessment and debates whether I was or wasn’t a Nazi,
Then I would’ve never put my life on the stake,
And would’ve thought twice before I taught- Sweat Saves Blood, Blood Saves Life- everywhere, be it Danzig or Gmund,
A century has passed since the First World War came to an end,
On November 15, 2018, I turn 127,
But to this day, the ultimate verdict of my character, my essence hasn’t really been served,
Who really was I – this great Field Marshall- Rommel?
Was I a lasting reminder that chivalry isn’t dead or that a soldier’s true decorum doesn’t concern anything to be ever politicized?
Or, was Erwin Rommel a misunderstood Desert Fox, who, at the wake of the Propaganda warfare, turning against Hitler, paid for the ultimate forfeit of his life?